


Sweet Dreams

by lary



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bloodplay, Breathplay, Canonical Character Death, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 18:19:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lary/pseuds/lary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Harry searches for the horcruxes, Snape starts visiting him in the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own them.
> 
> See tags for warnings.

 

 

It starts a couple of months after the bastard murders Dumbledore.

 

It's him, the presence in my dream. Snape. He doesn't speak, doesn't show himself, but I would know him anywhere. I rage at him to get out of my head, to meet me in a duel like a wizard and stop hiding. Silence is my only answer.

 

Waking up in the morning, I'm more tired than I was when going to sleep. I consider telling Hermione about my dream, but she'd just pressure me to occlude, and I have never been able to. Thanks to Snape, who else.

 

A week later he comes back. I'm not surprised. Somehow I knew he would come. His presence fills the space of the dream, the darkness around me is him. I yell at him, but it's only when I call him a coward that he shows himself. That one he could never resist.

 

“You know nothing about me, Potter!” His dark eyes are flashing anger.

 

My hand steady, I aim my wand. For him, and him alone, I have the pure hatred that allows me to mean it. “ _Avada Kedavra_!”

 

He steps out of the way effortlessly, the green light passing by into the abyss that opens up behind him.

 

“I see you have finally relinquished your superior Gryffindor attitude. Dumbledore's pet using the killing curse. What would the headmaster say now, I wonder?” His mocking words make me boil with anger.

 

“Don't you dare talk to me about him! Don't you _dare_ say his name, you murderer!”

 

“And how are you going to stop me?” he asks, stepping towards me. He blocks my hexes and curses without a second thought, walking forwards with intent. “You always did let your emotions show,” Snape sneers. “How do you expect to defeat the Dark Lord when each and every thought can be read on your face?”

 

His eyes lock on mine, black and deep, and I suddenly remember what he was always telling me... _legilimency requires eye contact_. My heart nearly stops as the certainty hits me that if I let him look into my eyes, even in my dream, he will see _everything_.

 

All my willpower goes into breaking my gaze from his, and I fall on my knees to the ground. His fingers clutch my jaw and twist my head towards him. I shut my eyes firmly against the intrusion.

 

Snape sounds amused. “My, Potter, you are finally learning something.” He releases me and lets me drop onto the ground. As he retreats from my mind, I'm jolted awake, trembling violently. An angry sob escapes me and I grasp my pillow to keep silent, to avoid waking up Ron and Hermione, tangled together on the other side of the tent.

 

With a cold sensation I wonder if I'm putting my friends in risk by not telling them that Snape comes to me in my dreams. I never could keep him out of my thoughts. If he can see what we are trying to do... if he finds out about the horcruxes, all will be lost.

 

**

 

The next time he comes, I sit down and close my eyes immediately.

 

All I want is to fight him, but I doubt I could cause him harm in the dreamstate, otherwise he surely would've murdered me already. His duelling skills aren't the danger here, it's legilimency, and I try to remind myself about that when the sense of vulnerability tries to engulf me.

 

I can feel him all around me like an overwhelming, suffocating blackness. I stay silent, and so does Snape. All my instincts scream against having my eyes closed, against not knowing exactly where he is, where the threat is coming from. But I ignore them and remain sitting on the rough ground. The night goes by slowly, but he doesn't approach me, confirming that at least he can't physically harm me.

 

That's how it goes from there on. He's not there every night, but he comes to me in my dreams, a silent pervasion, until one night I cannot take it anymore.

 

“Why are you here?” I ask him.

 

“Are you quite certain you wish to know?” His voice is deep, like dark chocolate, and I try to ignore the shiver that runs through me. While my mind is absolutely positive that I'm not fucking getting aroused, my body begs to differ. It's far from the first time for that effect, only now I hate it much more than I used to at school.

 

Pushing it all aside, I respond to his words. “Just tell me what the hell you want.”

 

Snape's laughter is soft and I can feel him moving closer to me in the darkness. I resist the urge to look. The murmur of words startles me when it comes right beside my ear. “The Dark Lord has a theory about how to break a teenager's will. He has sent his most faithful servant to do the... dirty work, shall we say.”

 

I swallow hard as Snape's nails graze the skin of my neck and move along my jaw. “In this instance, I happen to be entirely in agreement with his methods,” he drawls as he trails a pattern on my skin and curls his fingers against my windpipe. The gentle pressure partially constricts my breathing and I hate that it's making me harder than anything I've ever felt before.

 

“Get the hell out of my head, Snape.”

 

He laughs. “For now,” he says, and once again I'm jolted out of sleep as he withdraws his presence. I lie in the darkness of the tent, painfully aroused, refusing to think, unmoving until Ron comes in and I take my turn and watch for any dangers in the darkness. None come, not now that I'm awake.

 

**

 

Despite trying to focus on laying out a better plan for where we should search for the horcruxes next, my mind is reeling and I can't concentrate. Worse, both Hermione's relentless research and Ron's worried look are making me feel increasingly guilty for keeping them in the dark.

 

I'm putting them in danger even more than we initially thought, and the realisation makes me cringe inwardly. They are so devoted to helping me, prepared to leave behind Hogwarts and putting their families in danger, participating on the mission that at times seems hopeless.

 

There's no other option but to tell them about Snape, but at the same time... what the hell am I supposed to say?

 

_'Hey you guys! Sleep well? Oh by the way, Snape was visiting my dream. Oh and also I totally had a hard on for him.'_

 

Yeah, that would go over just perfectly.

 

**

 

When Snape shows up in my sleep the next time, I already know to expect his touch, and it makes me grind my teeth together. I can feel him in front of me and his fingers ghost over my shoulders and arms.

 

I shudder, pressing my eyes firmly closed. “Don't have anybody who'd want you, you greasy bastard, is that it?”

 

“Ah, but why seek somebody else when you're perfectly willing.”

 

“I'm not!”

 

“Liar,” Snape drawls, before his teeth sink into my neck, hard enough to make me cry out. He purrs against the spot, licking it.

 

“Don't touch me,” I hiss.

 

“And why not? Find yourself liking it a bit too much, _Harry_?” His saying my name now, like he has a right to it, it grates almost as much as the truth in his words.

 

He leaves me then, sending me to wakefulness. Tears leak down my face as stare at the ceiling of the tent. I grip the bedding and refuse to touch my erection.

 

**

 

“Harry, what's that on your neck?” Hermione asks me suddenly, frowning.

 

A surge of horror hits me at the words. It can't be. Can't can't can't. “What is?” I ask, dreading the answer.

 

Ron chuckles. “Looks like a hickey, mate.”

 

My laughter comes out forced. “I reckon the two of you are way more likely to have those than me.”

 

Ron grins, while Hermione digs into her bag, and hands me a mirror. My shock is genuine when I see the red mark on my skin where Snape bit earlier. Where the fucker bit _in my sleep_ , I remind myself. But the mark is there.

 

“No idea,” I say. Hermione's eyes narrow suspiciously, but thankfully she lets it go.

 

**

 

“You need this,” Snape murmurs softly into my ear. “Somebody to touch you, to feel you. Somebody to take care of you and give you enjoyment.” He's crouching behind me, unbuttoning my shirt, his other hand tracing heated patterns on my skin as it's revealed.

 

My mind is spinning, and my thoughts are tumbling on each other. My attempts to find my rationality are useless when everything is compressed into the sensation of Snape. My control is frayed, but I find enough to growl at him. “Fuck. Off.”

 

“Language,” he says, amusement colouring his voice. He rids me of my shirt, one hand locking my wrists against my back in an iron-tight grip. “You have your friends with you, but they aren't capable of giving you this, are they?”

 

An unstoppable groan escapes me when Snape moves his hand to take a hold of my cock through my trousers. I'm horrified that the first time somebody has touched me like that would be _Snape_ of all people, but it's so difficult to hold onto that feeling with the waves of dizziness that surge through me.

 

“Let yourself go. Nobody needs to know how much you desire it. It's only a dream,” he whispers, and I cling to that belief, if only because the alternative is something unthinkable. Only a dream. Not real. Just a dream. His hand moves determinedly over my erection and the low voice mesmerises me. “Nobody will know how wanton you are for the caresses of your most hated teacher. How your prick aches to have my fingers on it.”

 

He rubs my crotch and I lose myself into the pleasure, hating myself as much as I hate him as I arch into his touch, but unable to do anything about it.

 

“Good boy, Harry,” Snape murmurs. At those words something breaks down inside me and I erupt, and the unbelievable pleasure of it is heaven and hell rolled into one.

 

When I wake up in the tent, I still feel his arms around me. The part of my soul that was shattered by him doesn't want to relinquish the feeling. My hands shake as I clutch my wand and get rid of the mess. The spell does nothing to clean away my self-disgust and guilt.

 

**

 

The next time he comes, I beg him to go away.

 

“Very well,” he concedes and withdraws, slamming me back into wakefulness. It leaves me more confused than I've ever been, and no less afraid.

 

That morning, walking out of the tent and sitting down on the grass beside Hermione, I finally decide I have to tell. To Ron, I wouldn't be able to admit that I'm dreaming Snape, but Ron is gone, and this is the only time I've been relieved by that since he left.

 

“Hermione, I need to talk to you...”

 

“What is it, Harry?” she asks, immediately concerned. She can see the agitation on my face.

 

“I'm having really weird dreams.”

 

“You-Know-Who?”

 

“No, it's not him,” I haste to reassure her. She relaxes in apparent relief, but I don't share it, almost wishing it was Voldemort. Him I know how to deal with.

 

“What kind of dreams, then?”

 

I hesitate with how much to tell her, unable to face her shock at Snape touching me in my dreams and even less inclined to tell her how my body reacts to the touch. No, that much not necessary. Or even if it is, I can't do it. “It's Snape,” I finally say.

 

“Snape?” Her eyes are wide and frightened. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah. It's been a few times. It's always darkness surrounding us. At first it was just him as an unseen presence, but then he took a physical form. It all feels very real, I can talk to him just like he was really there.”

 

Hermione bites her lip, looking at me thoughtfully. “I've never heard of anything like that. Even the dreams that were controlled by Vol... you know, Him, earlier... he was never there, really interacting with you, was he?”

 

“No, he wasn't. It was just visions. And sometimes I've seen things from his perspective. But he's never been in my dreams as that kind of presence.”

 

“Harry, are you sure Snape is really there? That they're not just regular dreams?”

 

“They're not, I can tell. And I... I'm not sure if he can actually do something to me, through the dream.”

 

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

 

“When he looked at me the first time, I was afraid he could use legilimency on me, through the eye contact in the dream. It was just an irrational fear, an instinct, but I've kept my eyes closed after that. At first I figured that legilimency was the true danger, that if he could harm me in some other way he would've done that right away. But now, I'm not sure.”

 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione says. “I'm sure he can't actually hurt your body through a dream. Even You-Know-Who doesn't have those kind of powers.”

 

“Yeah, but that's the thing,” I argue. “I feel like he can do things to me.”

 

“How do you figure?” Hermione asks. She looks sceptical, and I can't really blame her, so I resign myself. I look away and stare at the trees in front of us, not wanting to see her expression.

 

“That morning when you noticed something on my neck. That night he... he bit me. Right there.”

 

“He what?” she asks, but at my grimace goes on hastily. “Maybe it was just a coincidence...” From her tone it's clear she doesn't really believe it, no more than I do. She touches my knee gently. “Has he... has he tried to hurt you?”

 

“No, not really. And another strange thing, as well... last time he came, I asked him to leave and he did. Why do you reckon he'd do that?”

 

“Maybe he can only do something to you if you don't forbid it? Maybe he can't stay in your dream if you tell him to go?”

 

“Yeah, maybe...” I mumble, far from convinced.

 

“Oh, Harry...” she hugs me, and it makes me feel a little better. “I'll look into the books I have with me, see if I can find out anything.”

 

“Thanks, Hermione.”

 

**

 

It's a few weeks before he's back again. I put Hermione's theory to test right away. “I want you to go,” I tell him resolutely.

 

“I don't think I will,” comes the reply from my side, exactly what I was expecting.

 

“Why did you leave last time?” The question is out of my mouth before I have time to consider how pointless it is to ask. There's no way he'll answer, and if he does, I've got no reason to believe him.

 

“I considered it prudent, as I could see that you did not wish me to be here.”

 

“I don't want you here now!”

 

“Of course you don't, Harry.” His voice drips with sarcasm, but then changes to a deep, low murmur. “So, you claim that were I to leave now, you would not feel... disappointed.” He leans closer, and his voice cradles me like satin. “You certainly would not feel abandoned or empty or bereft.” At his light touch on my neck, I bite into my lip to stop any sound from escaping. His breath is too warm against my skin. “Forgive me if I find it difficult to believe you...”

 

Snape's fingers circle my throat, pressing down gently. My voice breaks slightly as I try to speak, but I force the words to come out. “I figured you couldn't hurt me here, but I'm not so sure, anymore.”

 

“Is that so?” It's neither a denial or a confirmation. The hand not on my throat is trailing the skin along the hem of my shirt, only barely missing my erection. I force myself to keep a clear head.

 

“I just don't get it-- if you can, why haven't you?”

 

“Would you like me to hurt you then?” he asks. Whatever answer I had expected, the question throws me off.

 

“No-- yes-- I mean... fuck. I just wanna know if you can.”

 

“So what you are saying is that you wish for me to hurt you, but purely out of academic curiosity,” he says. “Certainly not for... pleasure. Well, I can certainly indulge you, though I cannot be held responsible for any unintended side-effects.”

 

With a final caress on my throat, Snape withdraws his hands only to take a strong hold of my left wrist a moment later. Something cold presses against my skin and only at the last moment I remember to keep my eyes shut. When I recognise it as a blade, I try to snatch my hand back instinctively, but his grip tightens.

 

“Don't move, or you'll merely find out that you can hurt yourself! You wanted to know whether I can hurt you, did you not?”

 

I nod, resolving to hold still. I need to know how much of the dreams are real.

 

There's a strange feeling on my forearm that quickly becomes a sharp pain. Crying out, I nearly draw my hand back despite my earlier decision, but Snape's fingers hold my wrist in a vice-like grip. A burning slash is followed by another, and then again and again as the blade cuts into me repeatedly, in precise movements.

 

When he puts away the blade, blood is running in hot streaks across my skin, stinging where it meets cut flesh. I want to look, but I keep my eyes closed.

 

Snape is still holding onto my wrist with one hand, and I'm startled when I feel his tongue follow a stream of blood from my wrist right up to the cuts, lingering over the wound. He licks at another one and traces the laceration with his tongue. His other hand moves down my pants and curls around the hard-on I didn't know I had. Again. Or still. He twists his hand and my moan escapes me unrestrained.

 

A part of my brain is yelling at me that the man touching me is Snape, the man who killed my mentor, the man I hate, but I'm too far gone to pay it any attention. He jerks my dick expertly, and as he licks my blood off the wound he made, I come harder than I've ever come in my life.

 

The world is swimming around me, and it takes me a while of catching my breath to realise that I'm still in my dream-reality, and that I'm lying down and Snape is holding me. I feel exhausted and overwhelmed and safe against all reason. The slight alarm seems somehow distant, like I can't really remember why I woud care. I feel myself drifting off, and I succumb to it with only a passing confusion about falling asleep inside a dream.

 

**

 

A moment after waking up in the tent, I become aware of pain in my left forearm. Horrified, I look down at the delineation and then hastily away when nausea tries to grasp me.

 

I scramble out of bed, using Ron's wand to banish my soiled underwear, and put on my trousers quickly. My hands shake as I throw a robe over myself. I carefully avoid making noise, as Ron is still asleep at the other side of the tent. He returned a week ago, and from an unspoken agreement neither me nor Hermione has mentioned Snape to him.

 

Emerging from the tent, one glance from Hermione seems to tell her something's wrong. I walk with quick steps out of our safety zone and she follows me, after leaving a hastily written note to Ron in case he wakes up and gets worried. When I finally stop and let myself fall on the ground, she casts the usual spells around us. She then comes to sit beside me.

 

“Harry, you're all pale. What's wrong?” she asks. My teeth clatter, and not from the cold, as I take off the robe and reveal the cut skin to her, keeping my eyes fixed at a nearby oak. Her gasp is sharp. “Merlin! Harry... I, oh my God! I'm so sorry...”

 

“Well, now I know.” The statement comes out hollow. “I asked him to hurt me, and that's what he did, carving me like a piece of wood.”

 

“Why, oh why would you ask him? That must be why he was able to do it!”

 

“No, Hermione, it doesn't work like that... You see, I tested it. I told him to leave first, but he didn't, not this time.”

 

“It's completely illegal, what he's done to you, marking you without your consent...”

 

I laugh incredulously. “Yeah, I'm sure that's a big concern to him. Kinda figure it still ranks below murder and the Unforgivables, don't you?”

 

Hermione doesn't seem to be listening, frowning in concentration. “But how can he mark you in your dream? It takes powerful magic to do this...”

 

“So he cut me with a blade, big deal.” It's not like I'd expected to come out of the war unscratched. The only thing weird is that Snape hasn't done anything worse. I choose to voice the most likely theory I've got. “The bastard must have orders from his _Lord_ to keep me alive, for whatever sick machinations he has.”

 

“I don't think it's You-Know-Who's orders he's followed here...”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Harry, do you realise what that is?” Hermione asks in a fearful voice.

 

“I don't care! One more sick scar I'm gonna have for the rest of my life,” I say bitterly. Probably won't be that long a time anyway...

 

“It's not just any scar... Harry, that's the Prince Family Crest.”

 

“What?”

 

“I... I saw a picture of it, once we found out that Snape was the Half-Blood Prince--” Hermione ignores my wince and goes on. “I knew what to look for then, into Snape's background and... Harry, that's the symbol that's carved on Eileen Prince's gravestone.”

 

The sensation is like my insides are replaced with emptiness. I force myself to look down at the wound now. There's no blood anymore, but the scars glow red against my skin. They form a picture, a crest with a black raven surrounded by vines, so complicated that now that I examine it, it's obvious that there's magic in it. At first I focus on the fact that I can't remember him using his wand, only the knife, but then I almost laugh. Yeah, like that means anything. The knife was probably a magical one, and if not, he would've had plenty of time to do any spells he wanted to after... I quickly turn away from the thought. The reality on my skin is enough to handle without thinking about the way he's able to mess with my head and my body.

 

I feel ill. Marked by Voldemort and now by Snape. The two people I've hated most, ever. I wonder if my life can get any worse. Maybe if I could have a scar from Bellatrix on my other arm... I recognise my thoughts becoming hysterical, and I force myself to try and calm down.

 

Marked by Snape... Something about it doesn't add up. “I reckon you're right,” I say after a long while of silence. “He can't have done that on You-Know-Who's orders. The egomaniac would never want a Death Eater to have their mark on me, of that I'm sure. This doesn't make sense.”

 

“I know. Snape must have wanted to do it for some reasons of his own.”

 

The twisted fucker probably gets off on that. As apparently do I, my traitorous mind supplies helpfully. Disgust is welling inside me. I try to push it back and refocus on what Hermione's saying.

 

“I can't see him defying You-Know-Who for something trivial, though, not simply for amusement...”

 

“We don't know anything about him, not really,” I remind her. The professor or the member of the Order that we saw never truly existed.

 

“Maybe not much, but... Snape, he's rational, he's always been.”

 

“Do you think he could use it in the same way as You-Know-Who can, to possess me?”

 

“If he could, wouldn't he have done it already?” she asks. “Unless he's afraid of pain to himself, like You-Know-Who seems to be. But then he probably wouldn't risk invading your mind in the first place.”

 

We sit in an uneasy silence, until Hermione speaks, her voice quivering slightly. “What are you gonna do?”

 

“I don't really see any choice... We've just got to continue looking for the horcruxes as we have, and I'll make sure he can't use legilimency on me. And we'll hope that whatever it is that's prevented him from harming me more so far will continue to do so.”

 

“That's good thinking. You should also try to occlude when you go to sleep, maybe that would keep him out.”

 

I cringe my teeth. “You know, it probably would if I'd ever learned how to do it. No surprises there, though, why would he want to teach me, when he can now take advantage of the fact that I can't do it?” I sigh. “I still can't believe that Dumbledore trusted him.”

 

“I know. He was so sure that Snape was on our side.”

 

I lean my head on my knees, and Hermione puts a comforting hand on my shoulder.

 

**

 

The next time Snape shows up, my mind seems to be filled with unanswered questions, and yet I'm somehow able to think clearer. For whatever reason, his presence isn't as all-encompassing this time around. I wonder if he's creating the difference or if I am.

 

“You can hurt me,” I say matter-of factly. “I mean you could really harm me. But you haven't, not until last time, when I asked you to.”

 

“I see you have not lost your unique capabilities for observation,” he says dryly.

 

I clench my teeth together, staying silent until I can't anymore. “Why did you do it? I don't think you were ordered to. I don't believe for a second that he'd want you to brand me like that.” The only response I get is Snape's nails trailing over the crest. I ignore the gooseflesh, pressing on, frustration bleeding over. “Why do you come here? What do you want? You must know that even if you get to me, I'll still keep fighting Voldemort. Are you here on his orders at all? Or is this some sick game you're playing for your own amusement?”

 

Snape snorts. “You have never trusted me the whole time I was teaching you. I cannot fathom why you would start doing so now.”

 

“I don't trust you,” I hiss at him.

 

“Then you must realise that there is little sense in trying to get answers from me.” Irritatingly, the man has a point, and I say nothing.

 

We sit in a silence that doesn't feel oppressive, even though it should. His fingers rest lightly on the crest, but otherwise he's just _there_ , as if without an agenda. I don't trust it a bit, yet I feel only slightly unnerved.

 

“Why are you here?” I finally ask him.

 

“I am tired,” he simply says.

 

“And what, it helps to sit in silence with me?”

 

“If you didn't insist on talking incessantly, I would be able to find out.”

 

“You're mad,” I mutter. He hears me and releases a soft laugher, which only reinforces my opinion of his state of mind.

 

Later, at some point, I lay down. He stays sitting beside me. Neither of us talks for the rest of the night.

 

**

 

The next time I see Snape, it's not in a dream.

 

Instead he lays on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, bit by Nagini. He looks exactly as he did when he showed up in my dream the first time, and it's disturbing. I scramble to crouch over him, where Voldemort stood just moments ago.

 

“Look at me,” Snape pleads, and I can do nothing but comply. It's what I've been avoiding for so long, but now I have no other option. It's not like he can do anything to me me anyway, in his condition.

 

His dark gaze locks with mine, and as it does, my chest is too tight, like my breathing is suddenly rendered as difficult as his is.

 

I feel too much and nothing.

 

He's dying and I cannot walk away. I can't find the hate I used to feel for him. I desperately want him to live, but it flows away as blood through Nagini's bite. The light in his eyes flickers and goes out. My heart breaks into million pieces as his presence is ripped from me, so violently that it leaves me empty.

 

**

 

After using the pensieve to watch his memories, I feel a hundred times worse, filled with a disbelieving hollowness.

 

He was on my side all this time.

 

**

 

“There's so much I want to know. So much that I lost with him.”

 

“Harry...”

 

“I should've asked him. He visited me for a year and I never really talked to him--”

 

“But there was no way for you to know!” Hermione exclaims.

 

I ignore her, staring into the fire. “I should have.”

 

“No, Harry, you couldn't have. Dumbledore planned it so that nobody did.”

 

“He came to me. I should've known, I should've trusted him,” I argue. “He must've been so lonely...” My words falter.

 

“I'm worried about you,” Hermione says with a helpless look. “It's been nearly a week and you're not eating or sleeping...”

 

“I'm fine,” I grind out.

 

“Harry, I know you. Please, talk to me. Tell me why you're taking Snape's death so heavy...”

 

My chest aches, and I turn away from her. “I gotta go,” I say in an emotionless tone. Ignoring Hermione's protests, I walk out of the Gryffindor common room.

 

With no conscious decision, my feet take me to Snape's dungeon rooms. The wards part to let me in, and I barely register my surroundings as I make my way to his bed. I crawl on top of the covers, clinging onto the fabric. I feel like crying, but my eyes remain dry. I'm not expecting to fall asleep, I haven't slept in days, but it happens anyway.

 

And then he's there, again, cradling me in his arms from behind. Without a second thought, I lean into his embrace.

 

“I thought I lost you forever...” My voice breaks, tears run across my face.

 

“I am right here, Harry. I have always been here for you, have I not?” he says. The sound is like velvet, surrounding me in pleasure so deep that I never wish to wake up from it.

 

I don't know how it's possible – does this mean he didn't really die? Or can he linger on despite that, like a spirit or a ghost or through his mark etched on my skin?

 

Whatever it is, he is _here_ , and right now that's all that matters.

 

“Thank you, Severus.”

 

He gasps as I say his name, and suddenly he's in front of me, looking into my eyes, his black ones full of life.

 

I no longer have anything to fear from him. Now I can look into his eyes, and they pierce my soul and my heart. As I feel a smile spreading on my face, I realise how long it's been since I've really smiled last time. I cannot look away.

 

He is visibly startled when I press my lips against his, and then he meets me in the kiss, his eyes and mouth and body radiating an intensity so overwhelming that desire tries to drown me, and I want this, want _him_ finally in this moment with the whole of my being, with no reservations. He can see it in my eyes and it seems to surprise him, but as I wrap my arms around him, whatever the walls that he has assembled around himself come tumbling down and he clings onto me with no less need than I have for him.

 

“Lie down, please,” I whisper, and he complies with my request. I want to touch him, now, and he lets me, surrendering willingly as I move my hands through his hair and along his neck and shoulders. He joins me in removing his robes, and then he makes an impatient motion with his hand, vanishing both of our clothes with wandless magic.

 

He touches my skin greedily as I explore his body, his lean, graceful form that reminds me of some kind of feline. I can't get enough of the taste of his skin, and I lick my way over his collarbones and trail my mouth across the scarce black hair on his pale chest.

 

When I touch my tongue on his cock, he makes a surprised, choked sound that has me shivering, and I give distracted licks before regaining control enough to take him in my mouth. At first I suck tentatively and then with more confidence seeing his reaction.

 

Paying little attention to the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing, I keep my whole focus on tasting his salty musk and feeling his enticing length heavy on my tongue, transfixed by the way he arches below me and the throbbing of his cock as I keep pleasuring him.

 

“ _Harry_...” Searching fingers curl into my hair as Severus moans his release, shooting the first of it into my mouth and the rest on my chin. He hauls me on top of him and my pulse quickens as he licks his own come off my skin and kisses me, rendering me breathless and filled with lust.

 

“I want you in me,” he murmurs, causing me to nearly lose it.

 

I nearly growl in response, “Fuck, yes.”

 

“That would be the general idea,” Severus says. With my teeth biting hard on his shoulder, he releases a sound that's half-moan and half-laughter, the softness of it making my heart ache as badly as my cock is aching.

 

He motions me back, to sit on my heels, and I watch paralysed as he spreads his legs, presenting himself in front of me, open and willing. “Wait right there and watch,” he says and in response I dig my fingers into my thighs, biting my lip as I stare into his eyes. Severus whispers a spell, apparently for lubrication, and unable to breath, I watch him push two wet fingers into his arse.

 

“God, Severus,” I whisper, reverently, desperate to touch him and desperate to have all my focus on seeing him fuck himself with his own hand, the vision of his body and his blissful expression burning itself into my brain. The sight alone makes me feel impossibly close to coming. His cock is hardening again, and I already yearn to taste him a second time.

 

“Want you to do the same to me, now,” he says breathlessly. My hand is shaking, but Severus guides me so that two of my fingers join his, slowly sliding beside them into the slick heat of his body. He's gradually stretched around all four digits, his and mine, and his eyes widen before fluttering closed, and he gives a breathless groan.

 

Hypnotised by his expression, I follow his lead and move my fingers in and out of his arse, until suddenly his eyes fly open.

 

“Harry,” he growls, his voice urgent. “You had better fuck me _right this minute_.”

 

Hasting to comply, I'm on my knees immediately. He opens his legs wider, unselfconsciously spreading his cheeks with his hands, and try to breathe as I push into him, inch by inch. The heat is incredible, tightening around my prick. Severus hisses, and I moan as he presses back against me impatiently so that I'm buried in him.

 

Filled with need, I begin to thrust and it's like nothing I've felt before. Severus meets me with each of my motions, my cock sinking in him eagerly, over and over again. He moves his hand onto my throat and keeps it there. I feel on fire, staring into his eyes, the movements of my hips going erratic as I shiver with anticipation.

 

“You want this,” he says, not really a question.

 

“ _Please._ ”

 

He presses down on my windpipe, constricting my breathing. His deep, dark eyes remain in focus while everything else starts to disappear into an unreal, grey haze. The buzzing in my head feels like flying and my hips move on their own accord as pleasure builds in me. Instinct tells me to struggle for air, but my muscles feel heavy and my body slumps down, his hand on my throat taking on more of my weight.

 

“Come, my Harry,” Severus orders, releasing his grip, and I shout out as my orgasm rips out of me and into him. I gasp for breath desperately and tremors of pure ecstasy shake me as each and every fibre of my being seems to come to life simultaneously.

 

His hand moves frantically against my stomach and then his arse constricts around my spent dick.

 

“Fuck, Harry... Merlin,” Severus groans, coming hard all over himself, with his head thrown down and his body shaking.

 

Nothing's ever been as stunning, and I stare for a long moment before resting my head on his shoulder. He cradles me close beside him. My prick is still inside him, and neither of us makes any move to change the situation, content with laying there, in a feeling of timelessness.

 

My lips find his and I drink in his taste, suddenly distressed. My fingers dig in as I hold him, as if I wanted to crawl into him.

 

“Don't leave me, Severus.” My words come without any conscious thought, from deep inside me.

 

He kisses me, strong and steady. His fingers trace the outline of his mark on my arm, softly, comfortingly. His eyes lock into mine, alive and burning. I can read the truth in them.

 

_Never._

 

 


End file.
